Metallic Deceivers From A Planet Far Away
by ImpossibleElement
Summary: John freaked out when he realised he was actually housing a person from another planet. Sherlock looked more surprised at having crashed his ship than he did at landing on a different world.


**Metallic Deceivers From A**

 **Planet Far Away**

Sherlock picked up another item from the desk in his bedroom, and was turning it this way and that. Clearly studying it. John sighed as he watched the alien go though every little thing on his room and ask questions that not even John could answer. Anyway, who really knew exactly how memory sticks really store data besides something about 1s and 0s? He understood it was all so very fascinating for his spacial friend, to find out how another species lived, but it made the blonde a bit nervous when the other asked something he didn't know how to explain. He was very fond of the curious expression the other wore when he was analysing something -even if that something was sometimes him and his secrets, one time even his pants- but he wasn't equally fond of the disappointed look he got every time he failed at satisfying his thirst for knowledge.

He had met the boy a month ago. A midnight with crisp air and blinding lights coming through his bedroom window. He heard a loud crash and ran outside to see a wrecked sort of machine and in the middle of the rubble a boy. He couldn't be more than twenty and was covered in scraps and dirt. John approached him quickly, and carried him inside. He was a bit taken aback by the blueish colour of his curly locks and body hair. John nursed him back to health, always hoping that the boy wouldn't wake up when the flat was empty and he was at one of his classes.

Once he had woken up, one saturday afternoon, it had been a very interesting day. They both were alarmed in very different ways. John freaked out when he realised he was actually housing a person from another planet. Sherlock looked more surprised at having crashed his ship than he did at landing on a different world. After they had both calmed, the alien started inspecting his surroundings and John could not take his eyes of the form. Not only was he a different specimen, but _bloody hell!_ God help the universe if his whole species looked like _that_.

Thankfully, Sherlock was the most brilliant person John had met and learned the language in under three days. The blonde had no idea how he had achieved that, but it had involved a complete all-nighter at the laptop -which the younger boy had taught himself to use- and more than seven daily straight hours of morning telly. The blogger knew that aside from the fact that he felt he was living out a science fiction movie, reality had to come some day, and it knocked on their door two days after the boy had crashed his spaceship. In the form of his landlady, Mrs. Hudson asking why he hadn't let her know he was looking for a flatmate. The aspiring-doctor realised, that Sherlock was stranded on Earth until they could find a way to fix his transport, and was now basically homeless.

Of course, he would never turn him away, so John decided to let him stay with him until they could somehow find the solution. It had been three months since that and John would be lying if he said he didn't like their new arrangement. Sherlock payed a portion of the expenses they had by solving difficult math problems on the internet, and the blonde was ashamed to admit he had hidden several parts of the alien's ship so he would never have to go. It was foolish, and childish, and just asking for disaster, but he couldn't help but fall in love with the indigo-haired boy. He guessed it spoke a lot about his auto-destructive nature that he decided to choose an alien that someday would have to return to his home planet light-years away, as the person in which to place his trust, his time and his affection. It would never work out in the end.

Sherlock stopped his studying of the object and turned to smile at John. "This is highly enthralling." He said, in that posh and elaborate language he had adopted, John failed to understand how one can catch such a vocabulary watching crap-telly.

"It's just a picture of me. When I was elven." John commented, and the mercurial eyes of the alien rolled in a way which displayed a silent _'obviously'_. John shrugged. "I don't see what's so interesting."

"You." The other said cryptically, and John had come to get used to that. Sherlock either spoke in terribly long and ridiculously difficult sentences, or in phrases of one or two words that never explained anything at all.

"Oh, thank you." The blonde said, not really knowing how to respond to something he was not sure he quite understood. "I think you are interesting, too." He added lamely. The other looked at him shocked. Like the best thing just had happened and John cursed the small ball of hope and affection that was growing within him.

Disaster finally stroke one night when John saw the same lights as that fateful time pass outside his window. The doctor's only thought was that Sherlock had somehow repaired his ship and was going away, without even saying goodbye. He rushed out the door just like that first time, except this time in fear instead of curiosity.

He found what he didn't expected. Instead of one alien short, now he apparently had one alien too much. Sherlock was fighting in his own native language with what appeared to be his older brother? father? and he was clearly very upset. The boy had told John the story on why he had escaped home to get out from under his big brother's thumb. Apparently two galaxies away were not enough to make him stop trying, however. Not that he could blame him, he himself had been sabotaging Sherlock departure for weeks.

Several minutes later the taller figure came to lock his gaze on John and started walking in his direction. Once he arrived and gave him a once over he said. "Take good care of my little brother." In perfect english.

John nodded and said. "I will." Not really knowing what he was promising. Shortly after that, the alien turned around. He got into his perfectly functioning transport, the lights came on again, and then he was gone. Leaving Sherlock with him.

"What _the hell_ just happened?" John asked, not sure if he was going to pass out or freak out. Or both. Sherlock just stared at him, as if he could just calm him down by sheer willpower. Clearly exasperated at his friend's lack of grasp on the situation.

Once the doctor was more or less alright, the curly-haired boy spoke. "Do you not posses a tradition in which the head of the family transfers one family member to someone for safe-keeping?" He asked nonchalantly. As if it were the most normal thing in the universe.

"He gave me your hand in marriage!?" The doctor was hyperventilating now. He shouldn't really be surprised his life had turned out so ridiculous. How could it not? He had an alien for a flatmate, for God's sake!

"Marriage! That's the word!" The other exclaimed, probably pulling the word and its meaning out from their storage in his Mind Palace. "That's exactly what this is!" He explained, clearly elated with the developments. John guessed he got his wish of Sherlock staying, and then some. But he won't be complaining, he had agreed after all.

John smiled at the alien and kissed him. They had basically just married, he was allowed to snog his space husband, and boy if that sentence wasn't just the most insane thing he had heard. After they parted, the both of them kept watching the stars above them, one in amazement and the other in recognition.

After a brief moment, Sherlock spoke up. "Oh, and you owe my brother a dozen heads of your livestock." He said, as if he had just remembered that tiny detail. A very important detail that let John know that more than marrying him, he had basically just _bought_ Sherlock instead. John couldn't help it. He started laughing, full belly laugh that you can't even control. Sherlock, sensing the laugh came from mirth and not mock, started giggling too until they were both on the floor, tangled up in each other just smiling. John would worry about his apparent debt later, right now he had much more important things in which to spend his time.

Author's note: Are we running home, or running free today?

Inspired by Maya The Psychic by Gerard Way.

Let me know if you liked it.


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